The Interrogation Room.
Hunter ignored Jane.
He knew she hated him. The humiliation of their previous encounter, combined with her current helplessness, was eating her alive. But hate was good. Hate ant she was still processing.
He needed to break her spirit before he could get answers. And the best way to do that was to make an example of her "partner."
Hunter walked over to a stack of old newspapers he had gathered earlier. He picked up a sheet, folded it ticulously into a thick square, and dropped it into one of the buckets of water.
He watched it soak, the paper turning dark and heavy.
Then he walked over to Perkins.
The tall assassin—easily 5'11", even taller than Hunter—glared at him. Her earlier bravado was gone, replaced by a mixture of pain and defiance.
"I'm a man of rules," Hunter said calmly, fishing the dripping newspaper out of the bucket.
He gestured to Jane with a nod of his head.
"Your friend here tried to kill twice. She failed twice. The second ti, I caught her. I punished her... thoroughly. And then I let her go."
Perkins' eyes widened. She shot a look at Jane, shock written all over her face.
Jane Smith, the Ace, survived because she slept with the target?
It shattered Perkins' worldview. She had always resented Jane's success, assuming it was pure skill. To hear that the legendary Mrs. Smith had bartered her body for her life was both vindicating and terrifying.
Jane's face burned. She glared at Hunter, her chest heaving with silent fury, but she didn't deny it. She couldn't.
Hunter turned back to Perkins, brushing a lock of damp hair from her face. Her features were striking—sharp, beautiful, and deadly.
"You're pretty too," Hunter noted dispassionately. "Maybe pretty enough to earn a second chance."
He leaned in close, his voice dropping to a whisper.
"But today? Today I'm in a bad mood. Soone put a contract on my head. Soone keeps sending people like you to annoy ."
"I don't want sex right now. I want answers."
"So," Hunter said, raising the sodden newspaper. "Tell who hired you. And maybe you live."
Perkins stared at him, her jaw set. She was greedy, yes, but she wasn't a snitch. Not yet.
Hunter didn't wait.
SLAP.
He slamd the wet newspaper over her face.
The heavy, waterlogged pulp molded instantly to her features, sealing her mouth and nose.
"Mmph!"
Perkins panicked imdiately.
It was like drowning on dry land. She tried to inhale, but the paper sucked into her nostrils, blocking all air. She thrashed against the zip ties, her legs kicking uselessly, her neck straining against the restraints.
Hunter watched her struggle, counting seconds in his head.
10... 20... 30...
When her struggles began to weaken, he ripped the paper off.
RIIIP.
"GASSSSP!"
Perkins inhaled desperately, her chest heaving as she gulped down air. Her face was flushed a sickly red, her eyes watering.
She looked at Hunter with pure hatred.
But Hunter was already walking back to the bucket. He picked up another sheet of newspaper. Folded it. Dropped it in the water.
Perkins watched him, and for the first ti in her career, she felt true terror.
She had been shot, stabbed, and beaten before. Pain she could handle. But this? The slow, suffocating approach of death?
Her mind flashed to her life. Her closet full of designer bags. Her collection of Louboutins. Her penthouse. Her poodle that cost $3,000 a month to groom. Her new Ferrari.
If she died here, in this dirty farmhouse, all of that was gone.
Hunter retrieved the second sheet. It dripped ominously onto the floor.
He walked back toward her, his expression as blank as a statue.
Perkins looked at the paper. Then at his eyes.
There was no rcy there. Just cold, chaotic indifference.
As he raised his hand to cover her face again, Perkins broke.
"WAIT!" she scread, her voice cracking with fear. "I'll talk! I'll talk!"
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